


Hold Me, Kiss Me, Thrill Me, Kill Me

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Cunnilingus, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Mind Control, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:13:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13832967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Morinth knows Jane will be hers. It's just a matter of time.





	Hold Me, Kiss Me, Thrill Me, Kill Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanwenmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanwenmc/gifts).



When Morinth first sees Jane Shepard, she knows she will be hers.

Shepard doesn't know, not yet. The soldier woman stares and Morinth watches from the shadows. She's not like the ones that Morinth normally keeps as her thralls - she's stronger than most. The widow rifle clipped to her side speaks to that, but so too do the muscles that curve, pleasingly, under the little black dress she's all but poured herself in.

She's special, even Morinth knows that. It's too easy to walk up to her, to initiate small-talk. Too easy to suggest small points of similarity; she presses each point, feels the connection form. Art. Literature. Death. All things she loves, and, soon, Jane will love too.

It's not until she dares to subtly trap her prey that she feels the stink of her mother in Jane's voice. The Huntress' eyes narrow, unamused at the thought of being hunted.

"Are you toying with me, Jane?" She says, whispering into Jane's ear as she grasps her around her waist: curled, possessive. She is Morinths, already. Even if neither she, nor her mother, know this yet. 

"Not yet," Jane coos, and oh, there's fire in this one. She grins.

Rarely have humans proved so alluring a mix of fire and earth; pliant enough to be seduced but strong enough to put up a fight. Morinth is enchanted.

And despite knowing it full well to be a trap, she goes anyway.

\- - -

She expects Jane will take her time going through her apartment, seeing the detritus of all the lives who have orbited Morinth's sun and since burned out. These are Jane's predecessors, disposed of when they proved inconvenient, proved too boring to justify keeping them in Morinth's thrall; not by murder but simply by abandonment. The tragedy of the Ardat Yakshi life is that the hunt is never-ending; she cannot be fulfilled, not by one and not by all. She tries anyway. She keeps reminders of the past; trophies, reminders of the fire that once touched her fingers. Jane caresses them and Morinth's hunger deepens.

"You have an eclectic collection," Jane murmurs, touching a statue from an Asari matriarch who threw herself at Morinth's feet not six months prior, and, after being abandoned, threw herself off of Thessia's highest tower.

Morinth slinks beside this Shepard, her hands touching a chin that frowns, thoughtfully, under her grasp. "I like to keep myself open to new experiences," Morinth says, her hand trailing so lightly down Jane's side. If she notices the slight squeeze Morinth places on her throat, she does not react, not even so much as a swallow.

 _What kind of woman are you, Jane Shepard?_ She thinks. She has heard enough rumors of Shepard to know she has been many things to many people --the legend has grown but the woman, perhaps, has been lost in translation. Morinth has claimed many high-profile clients, but never quite someone so many once saw as a savior.

"Let's sit down, and know one another better," she says. She can feel her mother approaching, see the unbendable will of the Justicar, and she grows hungrier. Death cannot satisfy her any more than sex can, but perhaps a combination of the two will do. At least, for a time.

She can only hope Jane won't get in the way.

\- - -

Jane does not react the way she expects when she throws her power against her mother's. 

The moment divides into images, three still-lifes that somehow flash before her eyes: a gun, a shot, a death. Morinth feels her mother's foul, unyielding stench fade away from the universe in quick, wretched gasps. She caresses her mother's face and finds it cold. Satisfaction fills her for a moment, then leaves, the void growing. Jane restraps the weapon to her waist and breathes deeply, fighting adrenline. "C'mon. We gotta go."

"Why?" Morinth asks and dares to hope for the answer she seeks. "Hasn't my mother indoctrinated you with all her talk of my monstrous appetites?"

"She tried," Shepard says, looking down with what might well be pity on the woman's face. An unusual sight, no doubt, in one so strong. "But she failed. I don't think someone deserves to die just because they're genetically...different."

Morinth sees, for the first time, the glint of synthetic weave under the skin, and nothing can stop her from grinning. It's already begun, she knows; Shepard already sees the similarities between them: two killers, freakishly strong and beyond petty human - or Asari - morality.

With a smile, she begins to undress her mother, thankful Jane Shepard spared her outfit from any laserblast. It will make Morinth explain her appearance in Jane's crew so much easier to explain.

Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, Omega scavengers will break into Morinths apartment, noticing it is empty. There, they will find "Morinth's" body. Many more of her lovers will find themselves inconsolable.

But walking behind Jane Shepard, watching her lips curve into a soft smile, Morinth is too hungry to give any of her former lovers much fault.

She leaves her trophies behind. She doesn't need them anymore.

\- - -

It's almost fulfilling, playing games on the Normandy.

She isn't used to the element of having to _hide —_ in plain sight, anyway. Ardat Yakshi were never prey animals. There's a scintillating siren of danger she hears with every swing of her hips, with every move she makes. It's not hard to play mother - who, thankfully, enjoyed little more than contemplating the universe alone while being high and mighty. That's easy enough to emulate.

But it's fun to look at the crew, to wonder which would be worth hunting. The turian has promise, and Morinth has no doubt that the krogan would be fun for a night or two. The ship's AI is a tempting prize, but less so than the bitch queen goddess of an XO, who suspects Morinth is not what she seems but does not dare to quite voice it. And why should she? Morinth is far more pliant than her mother ever would be. She leans perhaps a bit too close to the one named Miranda, lets her arm graze on the other woman's breast while reaching past her for a nutri-bar just long enough to invite her to challenge Morinth.

She never does, and Morinth's interest wanes.

She's interesting, but she's nothing as expressive or as glorious as the group leader: oh, Jane Shepard. Morinth wants to worship her, wants her to worship Morinth more. She's been playing hard to get, but Morinth knows - it is only a matter of time.

Already, she is weakening. She makes rounds through the ship and always, she stops at Morinth's window to the void of space. It is the one thing she shares with her mother; she has always enjoyed the darkness of space, the coldness of the stars. Always, Janes stares beyond her at the starlight, a bead of sweat forming on that thin, beautiful lip. Morinth thinks of licking it off and is satisfied to see Shepard shiver.

Morinth tries to press the boundaries every time she comes - a hand trailing down her back, forcing Shepard's own hand to brush Morinth's scales while Morinth's eyes and lips singing nothing but siren-song.

And slowly but inevitably, Shepard bends to her will.

"I do so enjoy your company, Shepard," she says, testing this after six weeks of visits. Shepard grins, basks in the thrill of the compliment. Her cheeks color like a schoolgirl's, a dusky pink blush.

"You get me," Shepard says, in an almost naive voice. "I feel like we - " She shakes her head, attempts to shake off Morinth's control.

It's of no use.

Morinth smiles, leans forward, presses a kiss to Shepard's cheek. "Oh, Jane." She whisperes in her ear, each word a honeyed trap: "We are just - the same, you and me. That's all."

The truth, if not quite.

They are both killers, but only Morinth is a Huntress.

\- - -

Shepard comes to her, and comes, and comes. Morinth keeps her at arms length until she's nearely full to bursting; she can feel the connection between them deepen. She can tell from just a look how much Shepard wants her, how achingly wet she is, how much she just _aches_ to touch Morinth. And yet she cannot, does not put her hands on her.

She will not do so because Shepard feels this is wrong; Morinth will teach her better. Jane Shepard might not have thought to have affairs with her crew, but - Morinth is no crew. She is a cuckoo, about to burst into flight.

She waits for Shepard to smoulder, feeding off the lust in the only way she can. Contrary to the fables whispered by her people, her sex does not kill - but it can ruin. She waits, her spine as taunt as a bow as she rubs her own aching clit, unsatisfied by her own fingers but needing to feed, to fill herself, with Shepard's desire. It's only in other's emotions that she can feel sated, only in other's emotions that she can find her own release.

She lets her relationship with the ship's leader stay at mere smouldering glances and artful thouches, at least until the night before the collector battle. The melody of fear, anticipation, and eagerness flittering through the ship is a potent soup, but she has but one piece of prey in her sights: Shepard.

\- - - 

She faces no competition when she comes into Shepard's room, faces no resistance from the woman herself when she comes close to her, stalks over to her with a swing of her hips, and pulls a bit of power to her hand as she says, "Kiss me."

Shepard's face contorts, a meek protest that vanishes when Morinth touches her cheek. "Give in, Shepard," she hisses; something in the woman's face goes, at long last, slack. She doesn't lean in to kiss Morinth, not quite yet, and in this, she is so much more alluring. Morinth likes it when they fight back. 

"I said, kiss me." Morinth curls her fingers in the other woman's hair and smiles. She's always been fascinated by hair, the softness of it, the ability of it to bring pain - and, eventually, pleasure too. She tugs on Shepard's red, short ponytail, brings her close enough that they share the same puffs of air. Shepard is breathing deeply, her pupils dialated.

"It wouldn't be appropriate," Shepard murmurs, but her lips part, just slightly. She wants her, Morinth knows; her eyes are dialated, her breathing sort and shallow. Morinth has no doubt that if she just put her hand on Shepard, she would surrender.

But she does not want to force Shepard's hand. She wants Shepard to want to surrender, to give herself to her willingly. Morinth's power is an aphrodesiac, but it is never a rape. The Huntress cannot hunt prey that does not lend itself to the chase; there's no fun in that. It's over far too quick.

Shepard licks her lips as Morinth smiles, saying nothing. Shepard's hand comes to her lips and with shakey fingers she traces Morinths' lips and sees her doom.

"Kiss me," Morinth says, and this time it is not a question.

Shepard kisses her then, fully, lustily; she loses Morinth like she is drowning, which, of course, she is. She presses her body to Shepard, wraps around her like a tight vice; the Huntress, readying her bow.

Morinth grabs her by the back of her neck and holds her, unwilling to lost her prey dance away from her again. Shepard moans as Morinths hands free her ponytail, letting red hair spoil over her shoulders like a fiery trail.

Moronth doesn't bother to ask permission before starting to disrobe her. She's already armored up for battle- like any good killer she's prepared for battle hours before it occurs. Shepard doesn't ask how she's so familiar with the human clasps; Morinth offers no explanation.

She frees Shepard from her restrictive breastplate, earning a sharp gasp of released pleasure as her breasts bounce outward, still constrained by her undersuit but already rock hard pepples. Morinth flicks one with her finger and Shepard cries out, wanton.

"Touch me, touch me," she wails, her fingers already pulling Morinth down to unsnap her codpiece; Morinth's fingers nimbly embrace eternity, pulling it off. Several thunks nearby her tells her Shepard is already pulling off her grieves and pauldrons with reckless abandon.

Morinth smiles as she looks up, seeing the crazed look in Shepard's eyes. She is wild, almost trembling with desire. Morinth feels throbbing desire flooding her from Shepard, and for the first time in a long time, she feels almost full.

Shepard already has undone the snaps of her skin suit before Morinth can.  She takes a few moments to admire the brazen nakedness of her - the well-defined muscle set against soft pink skin; the fat, pink lips on a small and wiry frame. She is a woman of contradictory elements and Morinth wants nothing more than to date herself on all of them.

It is only by drinking Shepard's passion that she can have any if her own. Her own clit can never let her come but Shepard - Shepard is already panting heavily and she has barely even taken her pants off.

Morinth dives between her legs, lets one finger probe the human slit. The variety in human cunts will never stop surprising her; Shepard's lips are large, the clitoris a buried pearl that only parting it with her fingers can reveal. Shepard shivers, her pleasure so much greater with Morinth's powers. An orgasm denied is, after all, an orgasm deffered, and Morinth's pleasure amplifies the feeligns screaming through Shepard's nervs a hundred fold.

"We shouldn't - " Shepard sucks in a long breath as Morinth's tongue dives between her lips: salty-sweet, not like Nef, rail-thin and spiced, but a more natural flavor - slippery sweet. "Isn't it - if we meld, won't I...?"

"Die?" Morinth laughs softly, then goes in for the proverbial kill, briefly teasing Shepard by wrapping her tongue around Shepard's clit. She screams like a banshee, and Morinth chuckles.

"Oh no, Shepard. While it's true death follows an Ardat Yakshi, it is more in that those who we service - who we chose - may seek death when we are done with them. Few die from us, though many die from a _lack_ of us."

"I don't - I don't understand," Shepard sighs, almost writhing against her thumb as Morinth explores her cunt with her hands, every nerve spiking with Morinth's Ardat-Yakshi energy.

"You won't die, no," Morinth murmurs, pressing a kiss down her thigh.

"Then fucking touch me already," she wails, and Morinth obliges, resting on her haunches and looking up into Shepard's eyes.

"Embrace eternity, Shepard," she murmurs; her biotics flare as she presses her tongue to Shepard's cunt, her tongue moving inside her with brutal efficiency. Shepard has only to think a thought before Morinth grants it; she screams, her void ragged as Shepard channels pleasure like few of her kind have ever experienced.

Morinth closes her eyes, allows herself to lose herself in the movement of mating; the pull of Shepard's cunt against her fingers, the hasty shake to Shepard's thighs. Morinth's tongue plunges along Shepard's slit without mercy, and she does not complain when Shepard's thighs tighten around her.

When Shepard's voice has gone hoarse, her voice merely pleasure-filled murmurs, her cunt - and thus, Morinth's cunt - aching, Morinth goes in for the kill. Hypothetically.

She leans back, and Shepard whimpers, unusued, now, to the lack of contact. "Look at me, Shepard," she commands, and Shepard does, her eyes flickering over to her within seconds. The bond between tehm is nearly complete now, and, with one last act, it will be done.

"Come," she orders; the bond between them sears, and Shepard cries out, wanton, as the mental link between them becomes complete. Shepard shivers in teh throws of pure extacy, and Morinth feels herself, finally, finally, after all these weeks come with her.

"Wow," Shepard says, shaking her head; her voice is barely more than a whisper. "That was - " She frowns. "Get your clothes, off, Morinth. I need to pay you back for that."

"No need, Shepard," Morinth says; she could do nothing for Morinth beyond what she has already done. She has helped Morinth more than she knows. They are one now. "If we survive, well - " Her eyes flicker, a promise that she knows will go unmet hidden on her face.

She is a Huntress, and Shepard the worthy prey.

"Yeah," Shepard nods, then smiles. "Guess I better get ready for hunting collectors, huh?"

"Oh yes," Morinth says, already thinking of the next time she will use Shepard for her own pleasure; it will be lesser, the next time, but still pleasurable, and she will use Shepard until she cannot. "I expect we both have a great deal of hunting to do," She promises, and Shepard doesn't pick up on the second meaning to her words - but then again, she does not have to.

 

 


End file.
